


Memories of cold

by Taikida



Series: Of Swords, Daggers, Rocks and Horses [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 16:50:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taikida/pseuds/Taikida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sitting alone at the table in the early morning, Aramis thinks back over the past days and the nightmares that followed.</p><p>Tag to 'The Good Soldier' since I think Aramis deserves a little more air-time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories of cold

The memories were like keeping dry sand or water in your hands, a few droplets stayed but most of them just fluttered away, disappeared, only to return in nightmares. Aramis sat at the table at the garrison, a cup of water in front of him, he had learned that drinking wine after the nightmares made him sicker still, besides, drinking in the morning was more something that Athos tended to do. Serge had tried to offer him breakfast at least twice but the old man had realized that it was useless until one of the musketeers' friends arrived. He recognized the signs of the nightmares, many of the soldiers that had been in battle suffered from them, himself included, but Aramis had been the single, well, near single survivor of an massacre.

Aramis hated remembering the scenes from Savoy, hated the way he woke up as freezing and surrounded by his dead friends, it had been real, and some nights, he relived it to the full confusing reality. He sighed as he sipped the cold water, rubbing the long since healed wound at his right temple. Recovering after Savoy hadn't been easy, or a short recovery.

It had been days before he had stumbled his way from the killing field, he hadn't been able to stay upright or even awake long enough to bury his friends. It had been Treville that had found him, if Aramis remembered correctly, the captain had tears in his eyes as he had gripped the unsteady Aramis by his upper arms, trying to talk to him, but Aramis had been too far gone, blood loss, head injury and fever. He had collapsed against the captain, eased down in to cold ice once more.

Athos and Porthos had been there when he had woken several weeks later, as always when one of them were injured the others kept vigil, much later his friends told him how close it been that he joined the other that died in Savoy. Three weeks worth of fever and vomiting had nearly sent him to deaths embrace, his own memories of those weeks where little more than flashes of faces and pain, but he knew that his injury and sickness had left his friends shaken. 

He and Treville had buried Marsac the previous afternoon, alongside the others, and after Aramis's words the captain had taken his hand and shook it, grateful that Aramis had accepted his actions.

Treville's tears that Aramis remembered had been real, the sacrifice of him and his comrades to protect a spy, it hadn't been an easy choice for Treville, and Aramis had accepted it, forgiven it even, losing Savoy to Spain would sooner or later led them into a war that would have taken more of his friends than the ones lost in that forest.

A plate with bread and porridge landed in front of him as Porthos and d'Artagnan sat down opposite of him, Athos sank down next to him, looking a little bleak in the morning light, probably dined mostly of wine the previous evening.

“You should eat,” Porthos said as he started on his own plate of food. Aramis smiled as he took the spoon, still silent and in memories of death, cold and lost friendship.

“Did you hear that madam Bonacieux agreed to take our young friend back into her house?” Porthos said between mouthfuls, “but I think she still wont forgive him in another decade or two.”

“Someday we will have a long talk about women, Porthos, for you clearly do not understand them at all,” Aramis couldn't help but laugh, which he realized was exactly what Porthos had intended. Now, with time, his nightmares about the massacre at Savoy might just die down to memories, after all, it was all cleared up now and he was surrounded by his brothers.


End file.
